In my absence.
What do those "socially preferred"
Return to conversation
After silence tells you
That your presence wasn't wanted.
Detoured.
You write and you wait.
Letters written in the cold of nights
Reaching out to those in which you seek
Honest warmth and companionship from.
No answer. No return.
Frights.
Nightmares relived
As one fails to "not trip over himself"
as he examines his outer and inner layers
Like a doctor trying to cure a disease
He tries to determine the actions needed
To make himself wanted and himself wishing to please
Those effects of disease
That are your defects
That chase away those you try and share a life with
You need not be avoided like the "plague"
As hope's walk
Is trying to mend it's worn out legs.